Jailbird
by CompleteLackOfSurprise
Summary: Based on the scene in which Sherlock finds himself being held in contempt after he lets his mouth run off whilst testifying against Moriarty. Rated M for further chapters.
1. Chapter 1: Show Off

The cell doors slammed shut behind them, creating a jagged silhouette across both pale faces. Neither of them could say they were surprised to be in there, but it was a continuing inconvenience to say the least. Moriarty turned slightly to face the partitioning wall between both cells, his pupils fully dilated, nostrils flaring with feral intrigue. Sherlock was turning too, but more cautiously, his ears straining to hear any sign of movement from beyond the cold stone division. Jim exhaled, letting his tongue coat his lower lip before wandering back over to the distant comfort of the cell bed, if he could even call it that. The detective took the same approach, choosing, however, to splay his entire body across the half-an-inch of mattress. His eyes fluttered almost peacefully, but then John was in his head again; _you just had to show off, didn't you? You couldn't just cooperate, could you?_ Holmes shut his eyes tight, blocking out John's harshening tone, wishing he could speak to him in person where he knew he could use humour to defuse the situation. But John wasn't there. He was alone. Jim was alone too, and just like Sherlock, found a sad comfort in the loneliness of his own company.

Sherlock POV

It's grown dark, I can tell how long I've been here by the shadow across the concrete slab they call a floor; four hours and counting. Why hasn't John or Gr- Graham…Greg, whatever his name is, come to bail me out? Probably as stubborn as ever, the pair of them, wanting to let me sulk in here for a while. Do they really see me as this petulant little child who refuses to see things any other way than his own? Just because I'm right about most things…okay, everything, that doesn't make me mean spirited. I'm as kind-hearted as anyone…I'm just not as quick to show it as those simple-minded worker bees. That's constructive criticism right there, you see? If only people would react as calmly as I do when I hand them around like memos. It's getting darker by the second. Stupid Northern hemisphere tilting away from the sun, this is exactly the kind of thing that makes me despise winter. I do get to wear my scarves though, that's highly important. The only downside is that they expect me to wear that fucking hat, you know the one. Yes. That one. I can't even think about it without curling my fists into tight, white-knuckled flames, searing into the darkness of my cell.

Just as my consciousness is about to fade into the pleasant haze of sleep, someone's tapping at the bars. Without opening my eyes I kindly respond with, "Unless you're here to let me go I suggest you leave me the fuck alone." The visitor says nothing in reply, not for a minute or so, giving me time to slowly and rather reluctantly glance in his or her direction. Their face is masked by a long shard of darkness, a shadow obscuring their features beyond recollection. "No, that's fine. You just stand there in silence, stupid people do far too much talking. It makes a change actually." A set of keys chime against the steel lock just as I'm about to dive into a rant of Watson proportions and then the figure is inside the cell and locking the door behind them. I suddenly feel like a serpent in a glass case and I'm tempted to ask my visitor whether they're to be my companion or my next meal. "Mr. Holmes, we have reason to suspect that you're in possession of illegal substances. I'm going to have to search your cell." The stranger is obviously a guard but I still cannot see his face. The short, angular body leads me to believe he's male.

"And how do you suppose I managed to smuggle drugs in here?" My lips twist into a riddling smile. The guard is still swathed in darkness. "Please, Mr. Holmes. We don't want any trouble here now, do we? If you'd kindly turn around and place your hands on the wall in front of you." His accent is muddled, hard to read. It would help if I could see his face. I can't deduce without a face to read, without symbols of life on a crumpled map, braille for my mind's eye. I do as he says but with my head turned to the side, waiting for the light to touch his cheek and ignite those eyes. But just as he's about to reveal himself beneath the glare of the street lamp, he stops. "I said face the wall, Mr. Holmes. Things will be a lot easier if you just cooperate." I hesitate but eventually follow his instructions, my legs spread apart. I feel a lot more exposed than I initially intended.

"So you couldn't stop yourself from showing off then?" He starts to pat me down, working from my shoulders southward. I force myself not to startle as his hands reach mine and then grace my ribs. He is far too…_gentle_ to be a police officer. "I wouldn't call it showing off, per say. I was simply demonstrating my skills as a detective." My lips are moving but I'm concentrating on his fingers and their careful placement. He bends down to examine the length of my legs and just as his hands reach my most intimate area, he straightens back up, a hand still hovering just above my waistband. "I heard you weren't really a detective." He says matter-of-factly, his accent still flaky, as though he's putting it on. My cheeks are scorching but I'm not sure whether it's from his ego grounding comment or his hand still on me. I'm about to spin around and put him in his place, tell him I'm a consulting detective which, in my experience, gets me more work than any normal three kids, sour boss, coffee-crazed agent working his way up the ranks, when I feel something stiff jutting out against my backside.

"Is that a truncheon on your belt, officer…or are you just pleased to see me?" I say rather coyly, my words reminiscent of some wily spirited nymph I recently met, though his face is far from the front of my mind right now. The guard smiles. I know he's smiling because I can feel the warmth of his breath on my neck and his lips part with a silent pop that I only I am trained to hear. A soft chuckle warms his throat and then all of a sudden it dawns on me; it's him. It's actually him and I had been fooled yet again by that disarming nature of his when he's in disguise; the gently slope of his shoulders, the authoritative feel of his hands on me. His hand _is_ still on me and I don't have the will to move it, not to mention the fact that I'm starting to stiffen beneath his grip. He drops the accent now, revealing his own supple Irish twang and slowly, so achingly slow that I have to fight the urge to move his hand myself, trails his fingers down to my cock where he grasps me firmly. "Oh, Mr. Holmes…" Jim leans in to reach my ear with his lips, his breath causing me to buck my hips forward. "You have no idea."


	2. Chapter 2: The Gloves Are Off

Moriarty POV

Sherlock is like butter in my hands, he's melting slowly and all because of me. There's a sentence I never thought I'd say. I reach my hand back around and pull down on my police cap, all the while contemplating whether I should turn him back around so that he can see my face. "Mr Holmes…" I say, already grinning like some demented ghoul cop. "Please turn around so I can frisk you from the front." The words chime in the darkness. He does as I ask and as he comes face to face with me, his eyes widen, his jaw clenching. It takes an inordinate amount of will power not to laugh in his face.

"You absolute fucker." Holmes pronounces each syllable with that wonderful smart-arse mouth of his. I worry for a split second, though worry might not be the right word for the circumstance, that Sherlock is actually angry, that he couldn't tell even as my accent slipped that it was me all along, but then his brow relaxes and he smiles a wonderful, bright eyed smile tinged only by humiliation. "So…you've done it again, I see." He's trying to repress the smile now.  
>"Done what, Sherly?" I tease him with my eyes, daring him forward. Sherlock does not take the bait, not just yet. He eyes me rather cautiously, the waning smile still igniting those lips. "Disguise, Jim. You've conned them as usual. Do you know no other form of escape?" He's mocking me now, testing just how hard up I am since I'm usually quick to fire back.<p>

I'm not so hard up that I can't teach this man a lesson.

"Who are you to talk? I heard about how you snuck into that gallery, Sherlock. Disguise is just part of who I am, just like being a goody two shoes is part of who you are." I press myself against him to mirror the pressure on his ego. Holmes is twisting his lips to hide an incredulous smile but I catch a glimpse and it's simply too delicious for words. "If you have all the tools to escape…" He gestures towards my outfit. "Then why didn't you just slip out? Why did you come back for me?" He blushes as soon as the words have left his mouth, clearly embarrassed at the romantic turn this conversation is taking. I can change that. "Who says I've come back for you?" My eyes darken with a silent humour that challenges Sherlock, causes him to actually search for the right words instead of letting his lips work without much thought.

"Oh, Jim…" Holmes narrows his gaze. "I know you far better than you think. If you didn't come back for me then you would have left by now. Or perhaps you just want to toy with me some more." I open my mouth to speak but he cuts me off before I can begin. "Or better yet…Maybe I should kick you out." My lips fall to a confused pout and my nose wrinkles. "That's right." He tilts my cap. "I could throw you against the steel cage, shout my lungs out until a real guard comes by and then expose you. How do you like them apples?" The phrase sounds strange on his tongue but I am intimidated to say the least. I take a sharp breath through my nose, my chest heaving like some throttled bird and do what any man opposing the brilliant Sherlock Holmes would do; I clasp his face in both hands and press my lips against his with such force and virility that I'm surprised either of us survive it. As I pull away I can hear his soft panting and my lips stretch to an unbeknownst smile.

"Perhaps you'll change your mind now, Sherly?" I say coyly, my own breathing racing headlong to catch up with his. Before I can judge his reaction, Sherlock pulls me to him, his palms flat against my back in a heady embrace. He's kissing me so fiercely that I can scarcely think. I let myself be overwhelmed, it makes a nice change from constant disappointment, I can tell you. "Hm…" Holmes hums against my lips, kissing me in short bursts now. "I'll consider your argument." We both grow silent again for the next few minutes as our kiss flares; Sherlock bites my bottom lip, producing a blissful sigh from my own love-knotted tongue. If I hadn't have been so mesmerised, I might have been embarrassed. Then we break away once more and as I open my eyes, my vision fogged by lust, I see that he's frowning. "What?" I laugh. "What is it?" He doesn't smile, doesn't take time to humour me.

"What's in this for you?" Sherlock eyes me suspiciously. "We've flirted absent-mindedly, sure, but you've never shown signs of such…_vigorous_ attraction before. So I'm asking you, what's in this for you?" I'm a little stunned by his question but I know he's looking for a direct answer and not for me to just try and kiss away his scepticism. He needs an answer…and I need a decoy. "I want whatever you want." I say noncommittally, leaning in for another kiss. Sherlock squirms beneath me.  
>"No." He says. "Answer me properly. I am not a toy, Moriarty. I am not just another dancer in your web, you cannot control me." I'm nodding now, agreeing wholeheartedly (at least on the surface), my hand reaching out to stroke the side of his face. "Okay…" I sigh. "Okay, you're right."<p>

The gloves are about to come off.

I take a half-step back and trace the curved features of his face; the dark, brooding eyes (oh, how cliché of me!), the slant of the lips and he pouts like a child denied their favourite sweet. "Kiss me one last time, Sherly…and I'll tell you what I see in the future for us." I can barely contain my excitement. Sherlock hesitates, his brow furrowed and he bends forward as stiffly as an elderly gentleman, his lips just as wary. But as we kiss I tilt my head to one side, glancing up at the corner of the room to a small nook where the light cannot find its way. "But first…" I mumble, my lips still pressed against his. "Smile for the camera!" Sherlock's eyes snap open and he turns his head to match mine, pushing me away with intense bewilderment. I can see it all fitting into place behind those deliberative eyes; my imprisonment in the first place, setting him up on the stand and then my illusive disguise.

"You mean…" His eyes flash from the camera back to me.  
>"Yes." I grin. "I'm eager to see what the world thinks of Consulting Detective Sherlock Holmes trying to bribe his way out of jail by seducing the guard." His face has been stripped of its lustre, but I come closer and risk whispering the next few words into his ear, making sure to let my hot breath graze his neck.<p>

"What on Earth is John going to think?"


	3. Chapter 3: Infrared

Sherlock POV

I knew the camera was there, glinting that red lens at me since the moment I set foot inside this damn cell. Did he honestly think that he had bested me? Did he really believe that Sherlock Holmes could be lured into such an obvious rouse? Well, he's about to be proved wrong. Dead wrong. It's time to bring out the crocodile tears.

"You…you can't show this to people. You can't…show this to John." My voice splits like oil on water.

Moriarty glances from one of my eyes to the other and then slowly bites down on his lower lip.

"Goodness, Sherlock." He looks positively delighted. "You're not crying are you?"

I turn my face away like a scolded child, trying my best to bring a blush to my cheeks. I want him to think that he's finally outdone me, I need him to believe that his work is about to come to fruition.

"Of course not." I sniff. "I'm just…concerned." I choose my words carefully.

"Concerned?" Jim snickers. "About what?"

I exhale sharply, pretending to mask a fake sob. It's almost too easy, almost.

"If John sees this, if he sees the tape he'll…he'll know." My lower lip is shaking now and I can't help but visualise my acceptance speech at the Oscar's. I'd like to thank the academy…

Jim squints as though he's trying to see through my very skin, those eyes like thin beams of infrared spying their way into the darkest corners of my brain.

"Oh, come on, Sherlock." He tongues his cheek. "Are you really that stupid?"

Even as I adorn this façade, his words nudge my pride with skilful antagonism and it takes every fibre of my being not to crack under his gaze. It's time to get things going.

"What do you mean?" I say, frowning in genuine confusion.

"You really think he doesn't know by now?" Jim scoffs. "If I can tell...John can definitely tell."

I turn away from him swiftly and try my hardest to keep the fettered insults at bay. _This is where I want him_, I remind myself. _This is where I need him to be_. Moriarty places both hands on his hips, his thumbs tucked into his belt-loops; he is really getting into character now.

"Listen, it's okay, Sherly. John's your closest friend, he's not going to judge you for being…well, you know. If anything he's going to be jealous." Jim winks at me playfully but I keep my expression hurt, cold as Molly's autopsy table.

"What do you want me to do?" I say almost inaudibly. "What will it take for you to destroy the tape?"

He's laughing now and his voice ricochets off the cell walls like a burst of jangling bullets.

"Destroy the tape? Do you really think I'd do such a thing, Sherlock?" Jim tuts. "Are you really that naïve?"

I start panting slightly, trying to repress the tears prickling my eyes, tears that I had to force forward in the first place. This emotional whiplash is starting to take its toll.

"You might as well accept it, Sherlock." He starts up again. "I have the evidence in my hands, so to speak." Jim turns to eye the camera and when his back is turned, I stifle a knowing smile.

It's me who makes the first move, walking back over to him and running my hands down his chest. It takes him off guard which is exactly what I intended.

"Sh-Sherlock, what are you doing?" He doesn't know whether to laugh or melt into my fingertips.

"I'm doing what you wanted, aren't I?" I kiss the curve of his throat. "Isn't this why you came here? You want me to act it up for the camera?"

My lips trace a slow, languid line up Moriarty's neck and then they find his mouth before he can say another word. I kiss him until the darkness behind my fluttering eyelids turns to stardust and kaleidoscope vision and there's something about the way he looks at me as our lips part that tells me he's seen it too.

"There's no way I can deny it now, you caught everything on camera." My fingers are unbuttoning his shirt. "We might as well just do this if there's no way to change your mind about the recording."

Jim shuts his eyes and lets himself be touched, my hands working their way down from his bare chest. I feel him start to shiver as my fingers dust the tanned line above his waistband and I lock eyes with him as I unbuckle his belt.

"Do you enjoy this, Sherlock?" Moriarty asks, his breath warm against the base of my jaw. "Do you like it better now that you know they'll see us…together?"

I slowly slide my hand beneath his unbuttoned slacks and then the waistband of his boxers, my palm welcomed by a handful of warmth. As I begin to work him up and down, I feel a small nip against my throat and realise that he's biting me to suppress a moan that would otherwise cause a full body reaction. It's almost enough to make me forget my own motives.

"If there's no way around this…" I kiss him roughly. "Then we might as well make this look as good as possible."

Jim opens his eyes, a coy smile darting its way across his lips.

"You're really going to Sharon Stone the fuck out of this, then?"

My hand stops for a second, much to his annoyance. "Sharon who?"

"Shut up." He pulls me back to him and kisses me deeply, bucking his hips slightly so that my hand grips him tighter.

_My rhythm picks up as we cut the chatter and start a pattern of kissing that leaves us both utterly breathless, our lips sore and reddened. I kiss him softly now, then just as he's starting to get used to this uncharacteristic gentility, I bite his lower lip, my hand quickening around his shaft._

_"Jesus, Sherlock." Moriarty gasps against my mouth, his cock pulsing in my hand._

_For a second I think he's going to cum but I should know better by now. Jim is sweating, he places his forefinger underneath my chin and says; "If you really want to give them a show, then you'll get on your knees and suck my cock."_

_I'm blushing but my legs are moving despite myself and before I can take another breath he's positioning his hips before me and I'm taking him in my mouth. He doesn't need to know the truth, that this isn't my first time with a man, that this isn't even my second or third time. I picture John as I let my eyes fall shut and I take Jim further into my mouth, my tongue swirling around the head of his cock. John knows what this feels like too, though that was a while ago, a drunken night that he refuses to talk about let alone acknowledge. When I reopen my eyes, I realise that Moriarty's almost there; his neck is lolling on his shoulders and his tongue darts out to wet his lips, his breathing jagged. This is it, I tell myself. If he wants a show then he's going to have to play the lead role._

_"__Sh-Sherlock…don't stop, I'm going to…" He throws his head back, biting his lower lip._

_As I feel him starting to tense up, achingly close to the inevitable climax, I pull him out of my mouth and rid him entirely of my touch._

_"__What are you doing? Don't fucking tease me like that, Sherly!" Jim whimpers, gesturing for me to continue what I started._

_I have other plans._

_"__I need you to say my name, Moriarty." My eyes are dark as I peer up at him from beneath heavy lashes._

_"__Wh-what?"_

_"__Say my name. Say it nice and loud for everyone to hear."_

_He hesitates at first, clearly pushing away the flailing hands of his overwhelming pride._

_"__Sh-Sherlock…fuck." Jim tries to touch himself but it's not the same._

_"__You can do better than that." I say, coquettishly._

_He takes a deep breath, his cheeks flaring. "Okay, okay. Sherlock, please. Sherlock!"_

_I take him in my hand and his eyes roll back in his head._

_"__Attaboy." I mutter, taking him in my mouth once more and running my tongue along his shaft._

_That's when he loses it; the creases in the corners of his eyes deepening as he lets out one final groan._

_"__SHERLOCK!" Jim cries, taking a handful of my hair as he thrusts forward into his orgasm._

_Moriarty pants like a dog in heat as he comes down from his euphoric high, the sweat on his brow and forehead finally trickling down his temples. I swallow, trying to perform the motion while his eyes are still closed so that he doesn't focus too much on it, so that he can't see how comfortable I am with the whole thing. He must have twigged by now that this isn't my first time at the rodeo, so to speak, but he's still too elated to process the fact._

_"__Bastard." He says after a few moments, those eyes now lit up with a kind of fear I've never witnessed in him before._

_"__What?" I say, trying to sound nonchalant, as if this whole thing had never happened._

_"__I just shouted your fucking name on camera, that's what." He raises his eyebrows theatrically._

_I get to my feet a little shakily and dust off my trousers, straightening up to meet his passionate gaze._

_"__You bloody-well planned that, didn't you? You knew if you could get me to chant your fucking name like some sort of sex-crazed groupie that it'd look like I was the one who wanted you."_

_"__Well you did." I smile, tidying up the rest of my outfit. "So your plan is…how would you put it? Fucked?"_

_Jim buttons up his slacks and buckles his belt before saying; "Your forgetting who the man with the key is here, Sherlock. I can edit out the last bit and still make it look like you were begging me for it."_

_I drop my smile, wanting to keep up this act right till the very end. Moriarty straightens his tie and police cap and then turns to leave, the cell keys rattling against his pocket. Just as he reaches the cage door and unlocks it, I clear my throat._

_"__You know, you're right, Jim. You could very well take that tape now and destroy my reputation beyond comprehension."_

_I close my eyes and when I reopen them, they're filled with a dazzling humour._

_"__But there's just one small thing…"_

_Moriarty looks up from the keys, his jaw clenched tightly as if expecting this tirade all along._

_"__The camera hasn't been running all evening. I shut it off about half an hour after I entered this very cell, the blinking red light being a bit of a giveaway, to say the least." I let out a small, throaty chuckle, finally able to show my true, unbidden emotions._

_Jim doesn't look at me, he can't. His hands are frozen and the slow rise and fall of his chest seems to have come to a halt. It's then that I think I've finally beaten him, that his spiteful ways have come back to bite him, and what a mighty fine bite indeed. But just as I've fallen into a state of self-satisfaction and relief, I see the corners of his eyes begin to crease once again. At first I think he's crying but that would be too far even for him. That's when I realise he's laughing, a deep, gut-wrenching laugh that radiates throughout his entire body._

_"__You're good." He says, opening the cell door and stepping outside. "Oh, you're good."_

_Jim locks the cage after him, leaning his side against it once he's safely on the other side._

_"__But I'm better." He grins._

_I frown, walking up to the door myself like a lost silhouette amongst the shadows._

_"__What are you talking about?" I wonder aloud._

_"__Oh, Sherly. Sherly, Sherly, Sherly…" Jim takes a step back, his face veiled in darkness much like his earlier arrival. "Did you really think I'd make it that obvious?"_

_My heart is a trapped moth, its wings beating hard as a flightless bird inside my chest. He can't have done this to me, he just can't have._

_"__What are you talking about, Jim? What do you __mean__?" I strain forward, trying to snag a glimpse of his face._

_"__You really didn't catch on, did you, Sherlock?" He tilts his cap towards me, catching my eye. "I am the camera."_


End file.
